Staring Down the Sun
by Initial A
Summary: Collection of SFW fic prompts about Emma and Killian.
1. Daddy Killian twins

"Papa?"

Killian looked up from his book; Elizabeth was standing in the doorway, her ink-black curls mussed from sleep, clutching her stuffed frog tight. "Sweetheart, you're supposed to be in bed," he told her, closing his book and opening his arms to her.

The five-year old hurried over to him, climbing into his lap. Killian grunted as her knee hit tender places; she was all angles and knees, his little girl, and wild with them she was. "Had a bad dream," she mumbled into his chest, her arms around his neck tight.

(She had bad dreams often, ever since Leroy had let them out of his sight during the last villain fight, and Elizabeth and David had seen Emma and Killian almost killed) (He didn't think he'd ever forgive the dwarf for the incident, but it_ did_ help that the dwarf would likely never forgive himself for it either)

He shifted Mr. Frog away to breathe better. "Dreams are just that, my own sweet lass. They're the movies in your mind."

"It was about Mama."

Killian shifted her against him. She grabbed her frog, and pressed herself against him hard enough that he thought she might be trying to disappear into him. He brushed the hair from her face, her eyes—Emma's eyes—tired and fearful. "Do you want to tell me about it?" He asked.

Elizabeth was quiet for several long moments. Then, she shook her head fiercely. "Where's Mama?" She asked instead.

(She never wanted to talk about it. Neither did David. Emma wanted to take them to Hopper if that didn't change soon)

"She's working."

"When is she gonna be home?"

"I don't know. Soon, I hope."

Elizabeth drooped against him. Killian smoothed her hair, the motions threatening to lull her back to sleep. Each time he thought sleep would take hold, she would wake herself up again. He smiled. "Go to sleep, princess. Papa's got you."

(He'd always have her. He'd made that promise the moment Emma had told him, wide-eyed and fearful, that she was pregnant. And he'd vowed it again the moment he'd held his squalling little girl-child in his arms, coming out kicking and screaming first into the world, a fighter after his own heart)

She shook her head. "No. Want to see Mama."

He sighed inwardly. Elizabeth, (and her brother, come to think of it), had inherited Emma's stubborn streak and his perseverance. The combination could one day be deadly, but for now it was merely a chore to keep up with. "It could be a long time until Mama comes home. She's working more because your Grandpa has to take care of your Uncle Neal."

"Oh."

Killian opened his mouth to continue, but a yell from down the hall made him leap to his feet, holding Elizabeth tight against him as he strode down to the twins' room. "PAPA!"

(His son, reserved where his sister wanted to climb every tree in the forest, already reading ahead of his age level. So different, and yet if you'd cut her hair, you'd swear they were identical. Not to mention they operated on their own level of twin-brewed mischief, completing the other's thoughts and sentences and actions)

"If it's not one it's the other," he muttered, kneeling down next to David's bed. He moved the covers back from his son's face just enough to see him. "You had a bad dream too?"

David nodded. Killian held out his hand, and hauled up his boy into his arms as well. David clutched a stuffed dog tight.

Carefully, he went back to the master bedroom, balancing his children in both arms. "How about you two lay with me in the big bed, and we'll watch a movie until you fall asleep, aye?"

(This was more or less why Emma wanted them to talk to Hopper. She knew kids were supposed to want to climb into bed with their parents when they had bad dreams, but four nights in seven was getting excessive. And things were worse when she had to work nights)

(It wasn't as if he didn't agree. It just hurt a little to think his children might open up to someone other than him)

David nodded against him. Elizabeth mumbled an affirmative. Killian set them on the bed, where they promptly destroyed the nicely-made bedding in favor of pillows on the floor and blankets down so they could crawl under them. As they did this, Killian went into the bathroom to put on his sleeping clothes—it wasn't all that late, a little past eleven, but he might as well be comfortable. Coming back into the bedroom, he saw that they'd left a space for him between them. "The usual?" He asked.

David nodded. (He was the quieter of the two; Emma often said Elizabeth talked for both of their children. "I have no idea where she gets that from," she'd tell him. He would scoff and deny knowledge of what she was talking about)

(If looking at her didn't tell everyone that Elizabeth was his, her mannerisms definitely did, and he was quite proud of that)

Killian's relief was palpable the day the twins had decided that _Snow White_ was their favorite movie. They'd giggled when "Papa's movie" had been shown to them, but he was damned if they'd learn to love it. Captain Hook, a cowardly peacock, terrified of a clock-filled crocodile… No, they could watch the story of their grandparents again and again, and they were welcome to it.

(Even if he was getting a little tired of having "Hi-Ho" stuck in his head)

He popped the disk in, and climbed into bed between his children, who promptly turned him into a pillow as the movie started. Half an hour passed, and Elizabeth and David were fast asleep against him. Fifteen minutes later, Killian joined them in a dreamless sleep.

He woke suddenly when the noise of the movie was gone. It was after midnight; Emma was home and shutting everything down for bed. "Hey," she whispered, voice barely audible. "Bad night?"

"Usual, love," he told her, voice at the same level. "Her, then him."

"Killian, this is getting out of hand," she said, slipping out of her clothes and into her pajamas.

"I know. Just… another week. I think Elizabeth's getting close," he said.

Emma looked at him in that way she did when she wanted to believe him but was afraid to. "One more week," she told him. "Then off to Archie."

"Aye," he agreed.

She kissed David's forehead, and then Elizabeth's, and then kissed him. "I love you," she said, settling on the other side of Elizabeth.

He extracted his arm from around his daughter, and it went around Emma, bringing her close to the fold. "I love you too."

(Maybe he'd mean it when he agreed this time. He did miss getting to hold his wife at night)


	2. Henry Walks in on Makeouts

There were blessedly few hours in which she could spend time doing absolutely nothing. This was mostly due to the fact that Emma hated sitting still for more than a few moments at a time, but also because she didn't always have a choice in the matter: life was not a restful one when you were a prophesized Savior. So every few weeks, she would take those few hours and treat herself to enough relaxing that her DNA threatened to unwind. This week's relaxation treatment had already seen a hot bath, and now Emma was determined to lie in her enormous, comfortable bed, and either read that book she'd been meaning to get to for the last four or five years, or fall asleep during it, whichever came first.

Before she did, she sent a text to Henry, letting him know where to find her if he got back before she woke up. Phone tossed aside, Emma settled into the pillows, and began to read. She managed to make it through a whole chapter before she closed her eyes for just a moment… and was rudely awakened by her book falling forward out of her limp hands and smacking her in the face. She muttered a curse, and marked her page before setting it aside and rolling over onto her stomach, hugging the pillow to her head. She sighed heavily, a light smile gracing her face, the peaceful blanket of sleep settling over her…

The door to the apartment opened and shut.

Emma squeezed her eyes shut tighter, and stuck her head under her pillow. Maybe she could recall that blanket of sleep if she pretended she was an ostrich.

The heavy footsteps signaled that it was Killian who had arrived home earlier than expected. Try as she might to stop it, her awareness always heightened when he was near. She heard him walk from the living room to the kitchen, cupboard doors rattling a bit, and then back to the living room, and then down the hall to the bathroom—seriously, by the way, what was wrong with removing his boots? They were loud! They tracked mud all over! They were _really loud!_—and finally stopping outside the door to their bedroom. "Swan?" He asked softly.

"Sleeping," she protested.

He heard him chuckle, and walk across the room, and then the bed dipped on his side of it. "Boots off," she told him.

"I'm getting to it, love."

Two thunks and a whump—his coat—on the floor later, and he lay sprawled out next to her. Without thinking, she emerged from under the pillow, wiggled over towards him, his arm automatically encircling her, settling into his embrace. He kissed her forehead. "Sleep," Emma said. "Relaxation day."

His breathy laugh gusted across her forehead, and she tucked herself against him. She drifted in a half-sleep, vaguely aware of Killian's hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Why aren't you sleeping?" she mumbled after a while.

"I'm not tired," he said quietly. "But I like being here with you."

Emma opened her eyes. Killian brushed his nose against hers. She chuckled, and then smiled ruefully. "I think that nap's gone."

"Aye, but it's still relaxation day."

"And what are you suggesting?"

He tilted her chin up, thumbing it gently, and captured her mouth in a sweet kiss. She sighed into him, her body molding against his, their lips caressing, his fingers moving to cup her cheek. She grabbed his shirt and cupped his neck, keeping him close as he nibbled her bottom lip. He wound his fingers in her hair, tugging ever so slightly, making her warm from top to toes. He did love her hair, and she loved what it did to her.

Killian groaned as she hooked a leg around him, entwining their bodies further. Their kisses became hungrier, more frantic. Emma started to push Killian's shirt off of him, when the front door slammed open and closed. "Mom?"

She was slow to come out of the lusty haze, and the quick footsteps got to the door. "Hey, Mom, I-oh God, gross!"

Killian pulled away from her. Emma propped herself up on one arm, using the other to tug her shirt back down-when had that happened? Henry had turned around and was babbling, "Oh my God. Isn't there some rule about this, what do they do in college? There's something on the door right, you should have done the thing with the door-"

"Henry."

"You know I'm probably going to need therapy for this, right?"

Emma rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you had that already, don't act like you don't have a mental Rolodex of psych tricks to cope with finding your mom and stepdad making out."

"That was _no_t making out."

"How would_ you_ know?" She asked the fifteen-year old incredulously.

Killian covered a chuckle with a cough. Emma glared at him. Henry shuffled nervously. "I mean, we have cable..."

"Henry..." She warned.

"Nevermind. Sorry I walked in on you, I'm going to Ava and Nicholas'!" Henry said, hurrying down the hall.

"Are you dating someone without telling me, Henry?" Emma called after him.

"BYE MOM!" Henry's tone said the conversation was clearly over.

Emma huffed, and leaned back as the door slammed closed again. "Oh I'll find out..." she muttered.

Killian settled his hand on her stomach. "Love, the lad will come clean eventually."

She ran her fingers through her mussed hair. "Yeah, yeah..."

He leaned over her, forcing her down. "Now, I believe we were getting somewhere..."

Emma snorted. "Seriously? You're in the mood after_ that_?" At his look, she started to laugh. "You're gonna have to work at getting me back there."

Killian shrugged. "I'm not a man afraid of hard word, Swan."

She laughed as he came back to her, attacking her relentlessly with kisses.


	3. Pilot Rewrite: Killian in Boston

The scent of sulfur assaulted her nose as she lit the star-shaped candle—it was her birthday, she could indulge if she wanted to. Emma squeezed her eyes tight, made her wish, and blew the candle out. The marble felt cool against her cheek as she watched the wisps of smoke float away from the wick. _I wish…_

The doorbell rang.

Heart hammering against her chest, Emma tried not to run to the door. She hoped her disappointment didn't show when she opened it and found a boy standing there, looking hopeful. A child, in fact. She flipped through her mental Rolodex of faces and names and appointments and deliveries and found absolutely no reason why this kid should be standing here at her doorstep. "Can I help you?"

"Are you Emma Swan?"

She hesitated. There were a lot of people who would like to have her head on a plate, and a most of them had no problem using a kid as a foil. She was about to tell him to buzz off when she noticed his eyes, wide not with fear but with cautious hope, and the slight tremor in his stance, as if he was holding himself back from something. "Yeah, who are you?"

The boy's eyes widened a fraction more, a grin starting to form on his face. "My name's Henry. I'm your son."

To say she was floored by this statement would be the greatest understatement of the decade. And apparently her hesitation to slam the door in his face and run for the big bottle of wine in the fridge was just enough for the kid take advantage of and come right in. Emma came back to herself, calling after him, afraid to touch him, afraid that this might be some kind of dream—maybe she was finally cracking, it took long enough—when he asked her point blank if she'd given a baby up for adoption.

Her blood ran cold. No one knew about that. Not even…

"Give me a minute," she muttered, and fled to the safety of the bathroom.

She figured he could take care of himself—he was ten, had obviously traveled a long way on his own to get here—_oh God, he was **totally** her kid_—he could absolutely figure out a kitchen. Emma braced herself against the sink, trying to calm herself down.

The doorbell rang again.

"Should I get that?" Henry called.

Emma swallowed her panic as she unlatched the bathroom door and went to the front. Twenty minutes ago, seeing her boyfriend standing on her doorstep, on her birthday (when he'd been scheduled overtime, she had checked), with no presents but a single white rose for her would have made her weak at the knees.

She still had weak knees, but damn if they weren't for other reasons.

"Killian," she began, and the boy came up behind her.

"Who's this?" Killian and Henry asked at the same time.

She needed to sit down.

* * *

><p>There's a long silence following the very strange introductions, broken only by Henry periodically kicking the island or the chair as he swings his feet. "So..." he said finally, dragging the vowel out, "you're <em>not<em> my dad?"

"Oh, _God_, no," Emma burst out, and Killian shot her a bewildered (hurt?) look. "Sorry," she apologized, then looked back at Henry. "No. He's not."

"Oh. That's okay," Henry shrugged. His eye lingered on Killian's prosthetic hand for longer than Emma anticipated-but hey, maybe he'd never seen one before. He was ten. "Anyway, we'd better get going."

"Going where?" Emma asked incredulously.

"I want you to come home with me. Both of you, actually, I think he could help."

Her eyebrows almost flew off her face with how quickly they rose. "Go home with you? Kid, the first thing we're doing in the morning is putting you on a bus right back to... Where is home, anyway?"

"Maine. Storybrooke, Maine."

_Seriously?_ "Right."

Henry hopped off the stool. "Please, come home with me," he begged, looking up at her with pleading eyes. If she hadn't already thrust her hands behind herself, she was pretty sure the kid would have grabbed them.

Killian touched her arm gently. "Swan, there's no harm to dropping the boy home," he said softly. "It's what, a few hours in the car? We can manage it and be home by breakfast."

She looked at him, her lips pursed as she thought. He smiled, his expression clearly reading that he'd make it worth her while. Between that, and the puppy eyes the kid was giving her, how was a girl supposed to say no? "Alright then. I guess we're going to Storybrooke."

Henry grinned, and Killian kissed her cheek. Emma went to change, and only sighed when the door was safely shut behind her. What had she gotten herself into?

* * *

><p>Something told her to have an overnight bag, just in case the Bug decided it didn't want to drive the full eight or ten hours (whatever it was going to be) and they'd need to crash for the night. When she emerged from her room, more comfortable in her jeans and red leather jacket than she'd been in her "date" dress, Killian was digging in the fridge and Henry was reading a very large, very old book. "You steal that from the library, kid?" Emma asked.<p>

"No. Miss Blanchard gave it to me," Henry responded, not looking up.

She dropped her bag on the counter, peering over his shoulder. The pictures in the book were highly stylized-probably to give kids an idea of what the stories were supposed to look like, but letting their imaginations fill in the rest-but something about it looked familiar. The caption read: "_Neverland!_" Her eyes drifted across to the page Henry was so absorbed in: the words "Captain Hook" found her, and she put it together with the vicious grin and the silver gleam on the other page. "Grimm fairy tales..." she murmured, pleased at her own pun.

"What's that, Swan?" Killian asked, tossing her an orange with his good hand, another and a bottle of water tucked against him with the other.

"Nothing. Come on, we'd better get going if I have to drive the whole way," she said, picking up her bag.

"I can drive!" Killian protested, tucking his snack into his pockets.

She held up his prosthetic. "I drive a stick, doofus."

He raised an eyebrow at the juvenile taunt, and she glanced quickly over at Henry. The kid was glancing surreptitiously from his book to Killian and back again. Emma frowned, and shook her head, dropping Killian's arm. "Come on kid. Sooner we get going, sooner we get there."

"Now we're talking," Henry said, sliding off the chair and tucking his book into his backpack.

_What an odd kid_, Emma thought as she closed the door behind them.


	4. Words, Words, Words

"I love you."

The phrase slips out as he's leaving—he's brought her lunch, always worried when she forgets to eat because she's caught up in some Savior business.

(She had plans about how to say it. Moments, grand gestures—things that absolutely weren't her, but for_ him_, and she wanted him to know she _meant_it because she thought so much about it.)

She realizes what's been said the moment he does—her blood runs cold just as he trips over his own feet, shoes screeching against the floor as he stumbles. She whirls—-a doe caught in the headlights, fright written all over her face in every possible way—-and he looks back at her with the same look of perplexion he wore when she'd asked him out.

(Oh, God. How did this even_ happen_?)

"It just—slipped out," she stammers, every muscle in her body tensed and ready to fling herself out the windows—he's blocking the exit and she _really _needs to run away and hide. _Now_.

Now he's walking towards her, the look on his face changing—she can't read the expression, and her instinct is to run _far_ and_ fast_ and_ now. _More words are coming out of her mouth—_why can't she stop talking_—while she's tripping over her own feet going backwards in her brilliant escape, because today _of all days_ her brain decides it's done doing the stoic, bottled-up-feelings thing, "I thought you knew—I mean, you're pretty good at reading me and I just—I don't know why I said—"

And now his lips are on hers, and his hand is cupping her face gently, his rings cool against her skin. She's backed against her desk, out of places to run, but now her emotions are shifting without the clutch. She relaxes into the kiss, her heart racing for other reasons. He rests his forehead against hers—she can feel his heart racing, too, under her hand.

(She always makes sure, more than a year later. She knows the difference now. Once was more than enough.)

"Aye, I knew, Swan," he tells her, his voice hoarse. "But a man likes to hear the words too."

"Oh."

(Her brain is apparently done spewing words now.)

"I love you too, Emma."

"I knew that," she says faintly.

Killian makes an annoyed noise, and she starts to laugh. His resolve breaks a moment later. "Say it again," he asks of her, when the laughter dissolves out.

She meets his eyes squarely this time. The words are there in his eyes, have been since perhaps the moment they met—before, even, if their trip to the past counted—and she's only slightly less terrified when she says them with purpose and conscious effort: "I love you, Killian."


	5. Quite a Common Cold

She never slows down. She never seems to get tired, relentless in her drive to do her job, to protect everyone.

Perhaps falling ill wasn't the most surprising thing to happen.

It happens slowly.

She pales first. She complains of a headache, that she aches. Then her breathing becomes labored. She takes medicine tablets and complains they don't work.

("I don't get sick." "Swan, please. Your mother said this would help." "It doesn't." "For me, then, love.")

(She glares at him and does it anyway, and two hours later he finds her woozy and struggling to catch her breath after a chase. She glares at him again, and he helps her home.)

It's the coughing that truly worries him. They're quiet, and she grumbles about feeling like she's suffocating.

His senses seem to be attuned to her normally, but now he's even more hyper-aware of her presence and actions. The first few coughs have him on edge, but the wracking ones that cause tears to stream down her face put him on the verge of panic.

Then she collapses.

(He's never been so terrified in his entire life, not when she nearly drowned, not when they fell through the portal, not when she nearly froze, not when his heart was about to be crushed while she watched. She was running next to him one moment, and on the ground, unresponsive, the next.)

She's burning up, mumbling nonsense in her sleep after they confine her to her bed in the loft. She wakes up to cough (she's set up on a mountain of pillows, can't breathe when she's laying flat) and Mary Margaret tries to get her to take medicine or broth before her daughter falls back into fitful sleep.

Killian finally dredges up the reason why hearing Emma cough sends spikes of terror into his heart: memories of the sickness that took his mother's life, the blood on her handkerchiefs, nothing a mere boy could know how to cure.

He sits up with Emma, dozing in the uncomfortable chair. He ignores Mary Margaret's insistence that he rest and let her take over.

("She has the flu. You need to rest, or you'll catch it next." "Thank you, milady, but no.")

(What if he leaves and she gets worse? If he's not there…)

(He misses the tender look the princess gives him before she leaves.)

Her fever breaks in the middle of the night. She calls for him, startling him into awareness.

("I'm cold." "You kicked me when I tried to fix your blankets, love." "…sorry…")

She rests easier. The cough is still there, but it's better. She's cool to the touch, and after another day in bed she snaps at him, at her mother, at everyone for hovering over her.

("God, you're all acting like I'm dying of TB or something, get out! Go! I'm sweaty and gross!")

He knows she'll be fine.

Then his throat feels scratchy, and when he coughs one too many times, Mary Margaret gives him a knowing look, and sends him to the couch.


	6. Sway

She'd shared only one dance with her father—her wedding day, when no one had mentioned the tears he was shedding, when they'd finished with him literally sweeping her off her feet, when he'd cupped her face gently and kissed her brow before going to dance with her mother.

She cherished the memory more than any other.

But this moment—a complete accident, a private moment she would never have witnessed had she not forgotten her phone and come back to retrieve it—it threatened to take that top spot.

Unseen, she watched through the gap in the kitchen door as her husband hummed a vaguely familiar waltz, gently swaying and stepping around the kitchen with their daughter, just shy of a year old.

Elizabeth giggled, her chubby cheeks rosy, and reached for her father's black diamond earring with her free hand. "Oh, trying her hand at piracy already," Emma heard Killian murmur as he gently freed himself. "Bad form, my love, to rob a man in the midst of wooing a lady."

Emma rested her head against the doorframe, watching them dance. Elizabeth grabbed at Killian's nose and then his mouth, giggling as he playfully nibbled her fingers. As he leaned forward and kissed her, one of the cats barged through Emma's legs and pushed the door open wider, revealing her to her audience. As he turned, Killian's grin could light the night sky. "Look, Libby, Mama's home."

Emma smiled. "What's wrong, love?" Killian asked softly as she came up to nuzzle her daughter.

Her eyes stung. She combed his hair with her fingers, bringing him down the scant inches that separated them to rest their foreheads together. "Nothing," she said with a happy sigh. "Absolutely nothing."


	7. Valentine's day

"Don't tell me," Killian started, "This is another one of your bloody holidays."

The diner was festooned with red, pink, and white hearts and streamers and _glitter_-thank you, Ruby, for that-and it would be almost nauseating if it weren't for the tenderness he also felt flowing in the air. Couples seemed closer than usual, sweeter on one another-and that was saying something, in the town where 'happily ever after' was taken to extremes.

Henry glanced up from his mathematics. "Yeah, something like that. It's called Valentine's Day. You give gifts to people you like, go on dates and stuff. Mushy love stuff."

Killian grinned. He recalled a time-so very,_ very_ long ago-when he was Henry's age and he largely felt the same about the fairer sex and anything to do with them. Henry, though he was the son of a product of true love, seemed not to be _entirely_ immune to the same sort of feelings about romance. "Indeed. So you won't be presenting gifts to that charming girl I saw you talking to the other day?"

Henry's ears turned bright red. "She's not my girlfriend," he muttered to his notebook, and then cleared his throat and said louder, "But you're taking my mom out tonight, right?"

Killian raised an eyebrow, shifting in the booth to lay an arm across the back of his seat. "When I only learned of the thing today? I suppose I might, but given your mother's general aversion to 'mushy love stuff', as you so eloquently put it, I'm doubting she'll be expecting anything."

"Who isn't expecting anything?" Mary Margaret asked, with David and her toddler son in tow.

"Mom for Valentine's Day, apparently," Henry answered before Killian could open his mouth.

To Killian, Mary Margaret comes across as the quintessential mother he's glad he never had: the look she gave him now was such a perfect combination of horrified disappointment and disbelief would have had him begging for forgiveness if he were not a centuries-old mutineer. As it was, he fought the urge to squirm under her gaze, perhaps shifting a bit more than necessary. "You're not doing anything for Valentine's Day?" Mary Margaret hissed, looking around the diner quickly to make sure no one was listening.

"I only found out about the bloody holiday fiv-ow, bloody hell! Ow!" Killian yelped, flinching away as Mary Margaret smacked his arm several times. Henry and David tried not to laugh.

"Killian Jones, you get out there and you do something nice for my daughter for Valentine's Day, or so help me I will... I will..." She seemed at a bit of a loss as to what she would do in retribution for a moment, and then a self-satisfied smile bloomed on her face. She shifted Neal in her arms. "I will tell Granny you're passing off fake gold coins for your room."

Killian scoffed. For the mayor, she really didn't have much of an imagination for punishment. "Milady, you take me for a fool, no pirate worth his salt trades false gold. A realm that bleeds boodle is no realm worth looting at all."

With surprising strength, Mary Margaret hauled him up by the back of his jacked and shoved him towards the door. "Oh, just go do it already!" She snarled.

* * *

><p>Finding the rabbit hole to Wonderland would have been easier than the search he went on to find a last-minute reservation at any of the town's finer eating establishments. As it was, he was laughed out of several of them, and given pitying looks in the rest. He supposed it was for the best; Emma was working all day, and she didn't like going through the trouble of getting ready for an evening out after a long day.<p>

As it was, he supposed he should do _something_ to mark the occasion, and stopped in the florist's shop for the handful of red roses Moe had left.

All vehicles were present when he came up to the station, and Emma was bent over her desk writing reports when he rapped on the door with his hook. She glanced up, and laughed in dismay when he presented her with the half-dozen bouquet. "Oh no, who told you?"

Killian cocked his head to the side slightly. "Henry, why?"

Emma smiled, the one that brought out her dimples and made her face light up like the moon, as she bent to smell the blossoms. "Because I knew you'd try to go all out for it, and it's not really a _real _holiday, and I didn't want you to go to any trouble."

He hummed in amusement as he perched himself on the corner of her desk. He knew his Swan. "Your mother may have had something to do with it as well, darling. Seemed to think she would have me evicted from my quarters if I didn't do anything."

Emma narrowed her eyes in the general direction of Granny's, and shook her head again. "Well, they're nice flowers anyway."

She tilted her head up and he obliged her with a kiss. Though they were the only souls near, it remained chaste-she preferred to maintain some sort of professionalism in the office, saving all of her energy for after-hours (which he thoroughly appreciated). "Did you know, Swan, that every single eating establishment in town is booked for the night?" he asked as she got up to find something to put the roses in.

"Can't imagine why," she said dryly. "Anyway, not _all _of them, and I was going to invite you over tonight anyway."

"Oh _really_?" Killian asked, keeping his voice light. He rested his chin on his hand, watching her innocently.

She shot him a knowing look over her shoulder. "Keep your pants on, tiger. Henry will be home until around nine, and then he's spending the night at Nicky and Ava's house."

"And after that?"

She raised an eyebrow and he grinned. She dropped the flowers into an emptied pencil holder. "Just come over around seven, I have plans for you."

"I'll be there with bells on, love."

* * *

><p>When he knocked on the door to the small apartment Emma and Henry shared, he heard Emma call, "It's open!"<p>

"Love, what if I were a mass murderer, you can't just tell someone to come in," Killian told her, closing the door behind him.

Emma snorted from her position on the couch. He was interested to see she wore only an old shirt and pajama pants with some 'cartoon' character he couldn't remember the name of. "If you were a mass murderer, you wouldn't have knocked. It's Chinese-and-comfy-clothes night, go get changed," she informed him.

"If I were a _polite_ mass murderer," he muttered, mostly to himself, but Henry chuckled as he passed on his way to the living room with a soda.

There was a drawer with some of his things in her bedroom-or rather, the drawer contained things Emma had _bought_ him, like pajamas and what she called "hanging-around-the-house-all-day-and-doing-nothing clothes". He selected a shirt and pants, and changed with haste, rejoining Emma and Henry in the living room. Emma slapped the seat next to her. "Got your favorite. Sit down, movie's about to start."

After the initial struggle of figuring out how to hold the container of takeout with his hook (catch it between the wire handle and the box, it's a snug fit and it works like a charm), the next challenge was figuring out how to eat with the wooden sticks (Emma and Henry insisted it's the only proper way to eat Chinese-there were many scandalized cries when he first went after his moo goo gai pan with a fork), but he could get the majority of his meal in his mouth now if he concentrated. Emma, (unable to sit on a couch properly if her life depended on it), laid her head on his leg, her feet up on the back of the couch. That did nothing to help his concentration of eating, and she noticed. She caught his eye with a knowing smirk, and he mumbled something about minxes and improper clothing for men.

Henry's phone went off when the Muppets failed to meet their telethon goal. "Mr. Tillman is here," he said, getting up and running to his room.

Emma sat up, leaving Killian's leg cold. "Okay. You got everything?"

Henry came back, shouldering a bag. "Yeah. I can walk home in the morning, it's okay."

"I'll come by and grab you, it's ok, kid," Emma told him.

Henry threw them a cheeky grin on his way out the door. "No, it's fine. I'll walk. You kids have fun."

"Henry!" Emma called after the slamming door and then she sat back with a sigh. "Damn kid is too smart for his own good."

She settled back down against Killian as the movie rolled to credits. "And why would you say that?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair.

Her expression was pure mischief. "Well, if he hadn't been here, this was going to be no-clothes-Chinese night, but with a minor-whose life I am in charge of and don't want to scar forever-present... we had to censor."

He began to see where the evening was going to go from here. "I see. A shame, really, that seems like the kind of night I would be in favor of."

Emma rolled, lifting herself up on her forearm. "Well," she said softly, her face nearing his. "We can always do no-clothes-leftover-Chinese night."

"Indeed," Killian murmured, their lips hovering close.

"We should probably work up an appetite first..."

"An excellent idea, Swan," he said.

He leaned in for a brief kiss, and then she squealed, laughing as he lifted her up and over his shoulder, and carried her into the bedroom.

They never did get around to the leftover Chinese food.


End file.
